


Sometimes Home is a Person

by Phenyx_tP



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phenyx_tP/pseuds/Phenyx_tP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the adventure, Ray Kowalski boarded a plane and completely vanished from Benton's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes Home is a Person

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pepperywisdom (paramountie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paramountie/gifts).



> Many thanks to MrsD for her wonderfully insightful beta work.
> 
> Sorry Pepper. This is not kid-fic.  
> But there are dogs, which (let's face it) are basically furry kids, right?

_“Well sometimes home is a person”. – Beth Revis_

Corporal Benton Fraser stood to one side in the aisle as he allowed the other passengers to disembark. Here in Canada, his fellow travelers treated Benton far differently than those he had encountered a week ago in Chicago. Here, even though Benton was dressed in simple jeans and a flannel shirt, the hat he carried signified his occupation and most people bound for Yellowknife recognized it as such. As a result, there had been several attempts by others to allow Benton into the queue ahead of them. Each time, the teachings of his grandmother forced Benton into a polite debate.

“No please, after you.”

“Oh no, dear. After you.”

“I must insist, ma’am. After you.”

It was so different from his experience at O’Hare last week where not a soul had deigned to even glance his way. It had been like flowing through a tide of humanity, cold and without feeling. Or it had been until Benton had reached the end of the terminal. There he’d found Ray Vecchio frantically waving his arms to gain his attention. Only then had Benton received the welcome of warmth and friendship he had come to rely upon.

Benton had traveled to the United States only twice in the years since he had transferred back to the Territories. The first time, he’d visited Ray and his wife in Florida. Benton had enjoyed the experience of swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, something one simply did not do voluntarily in the Arctic Ocean. But for the most part, Florida was too hot and humid for Benton’s tastes. He’d been glad when Ray and Stella decided to move back to Chicago.

Benton followed the last passenger off the plane, hefting his pack over one shoulder as he stepped onto the tarmac. His outward appearance reflected patience and courtesy even though his stomach was knotted with excitement. Looking around, Benton found himself searching for a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed man. 

It was ridiculous, really. There was no reason to think Ray Kowalski would be waiting for Benton’s arrival. No reason to think Ray even knew he was coming. The two of them hadn’t spoken for nearly four years. In point of fact, Benton had been under the faulty assumption that Ray was in Chicago all this time. He’d only learned a few days ago that Ray was living in Yellowknife.

He’d been stunned to learn the truth from Ray’s mother. Granted, Benton had hoped that Mrs. Kowalski would know the whereabouts of her son. He had, in fact, been counting on it. When it became apparent that Mrs. Kowalski was to be godmother to Ray and Stella Vecchio’s infant son Benjamin, and Benton was to be godfather, it seemed the perfect opportunity to find out more about his missing friend.

Benton had missed Ray Kowalski terribly over the last four years. The two had been very close during their partnership in Chicago and their quest for Franklin had only strengthened the bond. For nearly a year, Ray had been constantly at Benton’s side while at first they searched for Franklin and then together rebuilt the cabin Victoria had burned down. For a brief time, Ray had even accompanied Benton on his patrols once he’d been called back to duty. 

When it came time for Ray to return to the States, he’d been quiet and sullen. Benton had also been dismayed at his friend’s imminent departure. But never had he dreamed that those few words spoken in the airport terminal at Inuvik would be the last he’d share with Ray for so long a time. Ray Kowalski had climbed aboard the plane and disappeared completely from Benton’s life. 

At first, Benton had been concerned for his friend’s safety. But letters from Francesca and Turnbull both indicated that Ray was fine, though he had not returned to the 27th precinct. Ray evidently placed annual phone calls to Francesca on her birthday and spoke at length with Turnbull whenever the younger Mountie answered Francesca’s phone – an occurrence that had increased in frequency as their romance blossomed. 

Benton had written to Ray often and repeatedly tried to contact him by phone. But letters were returned with “Unknown Addressee” scrawled across the envelope while phone calls to Ray’s number screeched a tri-tone error message. New contact information was never received even though Benton contacted Chicago’s “411” information on a quarterly basis.

Moving around as often as he had when he was young, Benton had never really learned how to maintain friends over long distances. He had tried, of course, beginning pen-pal correspondence within days of each relocation. He dutifully responded to every letter he received. But when correspondence stopped coming, and eventually it always had, young Benton had never learned how to keep the connection of friendship in place without regular interpersonal contact. His inbred reserve prevented him from imposing on those youngsters once they had moved on to other entertainments.

In truth, Benton had known that his friendship with Ray Kowalski would not survive distance any better than the friendships of his childhood had. But he had never expected the deepest and most fulfilling partnership of his life to end with such abruptness. One day Ray was there and the next, he seemingly ceased to exist. The void Ray’s absence left in Benton’s life was an ache that never seemed to heal.

Very early on, Benton had contacted Ray’s parents with no success. Benton had made sure that Mrs. Kowalski had his contact information and gained a promise that she would pass that information on to Ray. Something must have been seriously wrong in order for Ray to cease all communication with his mother. 

Benton had learned last week, however, that this was not the case. Ray Kowalski called his mother at least once a month and she had, as promised, passed on Benton’s message to Ray. Ray’s parents had no idea that Benton still did not know where Ray was to be found.

Benton’s confusion and fear had warred with his joy and disbelief. He had been looking in the wrong place. He had, in fact, been looking in the wrong country. Benton chose not to dwell on the fact that Ray had not contacted him. There would be time for answers soon, when he finally saw Ray again. 

With a sigh, Benton reached into his pocket and removed the address carefully written on a square of notebook paper. He had written it himself with a trembling hand as Ray’s mother carefully recited it to him from her own address book. He remembered her words clearly.

“He has a very small apartment behind the garage he works at. But this is where his mail gets delivered. It’s a lovely town really. Everything was so green when we went to see him last summer. We stayed with him, you know, while he recuperated from that ghastly attack.” Mrs. Kowalski spoke as though Benton knew what she was talking about. “It was such a blessing that he came through it okay.”

The address led Benton to a bar and grill establishment in a neighborhood focused around a distribution center. There was a truck stop across the road, with a weigh station nearby. There were several repair shops, a towing business, a motel and a McDonald’s. There were a handful of people about and two cargo trucks parked in the lot across the street. Everything seemed equipped to handle a much larger amount of traffic. But then, the ice roads were several months from opening, so this wasn’t a busy time of year for the trucking industry.

Benton stepped into the place called Marty’s Tavern and paused for a moment as he removed his hat to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. It looked like every other diner in the world. There were booths along one wall opposite the bar. There were tables scattered about, a waitress busily wiped one down. An older man in an apron stood behind the counter, leaning against the wall as he read a newspaper. 

“Pardon me,” Benton said to him. “Have you seen this man?” Benton offered the man a picture of himself and Ray, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders as they grinned at the camera. Of the few pictures he owned, this was Benton’s favorite and he carried it with him always. It reminded him of a time in his life when he’d been truly happy.

The man took the photograph and frowned. “What do you want with him?”

“He’s a good friend,” Benton said. “I’m afraid we’ve lost touch and I’m trying to remedy the situation.”

The man’s frown deepened. 

“My name is Corporal Benton Fraser, RCMP,” Benton added. “I’d be much obliged if you could assist me in any way.”

“Do you have ID?” the man asked.

“Oh,” Benton blinked in surprise. “Why, yes.” He pulled out his wallet and produced his identification.

The other man studied it closely for a minute before handing it back. “Sorry,” he said. “But one can’t be too careful where that boy is concerned.” The man held out his hand, “My name’s Marty Tibbit. I’m the owner here. And if you’re looking for Ray, this is where you’ll find him sooner or later.”

Benton shook the other man’s hand and turned to scan the room again. 

The old man smiled. “He won’t be in until suppertime. Sorry I gave you a hard time just now, but the last time someone came looking for Ray, the creep was up to no good.”

“No good?” Benton urged.

Marty nodded. “Yeah. A little over a year ago, some guy came snooping around for Ray. He had a big cheesy smile and was shoveling a load of bullshit. I fell for it - hook, line and sinker. It was dumb. It’s easy to forget, you know? Ray’s so quiet, keeps to himself, never causes a fuss. It’s easy to forget that he’s the same guy that helped stop those submarine terrorists a few years back. From what I’m told, he went up against some pretty rough guys back in the days when he was a cop, too.”

“Yes,” Benton agreed. “Yes, he did.”

“Turns out this guy was someone Ray had sent to prison more than a decade ago,” Marty continued. “Scum did his time and then came looking for Ray. The guy snuck up on Ray and had stabbed him four times before that partner of his came along and put a stop to it.”

Benton swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure which upset him more, the fact that Ray had been badly hurt, or that he seemed to have found a new partner. “Partner,” Benton pried, his voice little more than a whisper. 

“Oh, yeah,” Marty gleefully went on. “You should have seen that crazy Yank. He staggers into the street covered in blood, and he’s carrying Partner in his arms. ‘Somebody help my partner,’ he cries.” Marty shook his head. “There Ray was, bleeding buckets into the gutter and all he was worried about was that monster of a dog of his.”

“Dog?” Benton was truly confused at this point.

Marty frowned again, “I thought you said you two were friends.”

Benton felt his face warm with embarrassment. “It has been several years since we’ve spoken to one another.”

“Hmm.” Marty studied him a moment longer before evidently deciding that Benton wasn’t a threat. “Partner is Ray’s dog. He’s a big black three-legged Malamute mix. He’s a huge creature, as tall as a man when he’s up on his hind legs and black as night except for the yellow eyes.

“He’s completely devoted to Ray,” Marty continued. “Partner saved Ray’s life that day. Threw himself at that creep and started mauling him. The guy fought back, sliced Partner up pretty bad. But in the end, Partner ripped his throat out and left him in a puddle of blood.”

“Dear god,” Benton gasped. 

“It was pretty gruesome from what I hear,” Marty said. “But both Ray and Partner came through it okay. Ray had taken Partner to some training classes so he was legally recognized as a guard dog, which allowed the Courts to rule self-defense. Ray just shrugs it off now, no big deal. And that dog is always nearby. Ray started hauling on the ice roads last season and Partner rode in the rig right alongside him.”

For a moment, Benton was at a loss for words. It seemed too much information to absorb in so short a time. “Thank you kindly, sir.” Benton responded after a moment or two. “You say Ray will be here around suppertime?” 

“He almost always is,” Marty replied. “But that won’t be for hours. Can I get you a cup of coffee or something to eat while you wait?” 

“Thank you but no,” Benton said. “Would you know of Ray’s whereabouts this afternoon?”

After a long pause, Marty answered. “He works at Cole’s Garage, two doors down.”

“Thank you kindly, Sir.” 

Benton left so quickly as to be almost rude. He was nearly running down the street by the time he reached the simple white wooden building with the blue hand-painted sign that read “Cole’s Garage”. Benton yanked open the door, causing a bell that hung overhead to jangle. 

Inside was a small office separated from a spacious work area by a low wall. The far side of the garage was made up of two large bay doors, both of which were currently open. A yellow pickup truck with its hood propped up sat in one of the service areas.

As Benton stepped forward, he noticed several things at once. First, there was a man in grey overalls standing with his back to the door. Second, the man was talking on the phone with the cord stretched across the low wall to reach his ear. Third, a shadow had appeared from under a desk, accompanied by a low, dangerous sounding growl.

“Yeah thanks for the heads up, Marty,” the man was saying. “He’s here now. Right. I know him. No problem.” The man turned around to hang up the phone, and Benton saw Ray Kowalski for the first time in nearly four years. 

Ray had changed. His hair was cut very short in an almost military style. Its bleached-blond color was no longer dyed and had faded to the soft brown shade of dried wheat. Ray had gained weight, a muscled heft across his shoulders. He now had a thickness to him that spoke of time spent at heavy labor, lifting or hauling or perhaps chopping wood. There was a white scar running in a perfectly vertical line on Ray’s left cheek from two centimeters beneath the eye socket to the edge of his lower jaw. The blue eyes that met Benton’s gaze held no warmth or gladness. 

“It is okay, Partner,” Ray said softly. 

For a moment, Benton nearly smiled with relief. But then he realized that Ray had been talking to the large dog standing at Benton’s feet. In an attempt to regain his shaken equilibrium, Benton took few moments to study the creature. 

It was indeed a very large dog, at least twice the size of Diefenbaker. The animal’s chest was very broad and muscular. Evidently the creature’s body had adapted to a missing foreleg by making the remaining front leg stronger to accommodate the loss. He was completely black except for a streak of gray that ran down his muzzle, undoubtedly the remains of a knife wound. Ray and his dog seemed to have matching scars. Benton was suddenly thankful that Dief had stayed in Inuvik with Maggie, for the half-wolf would not have taken kindly to this dog’s greeting. And Diefenbaker just wasn’t as young as he used to be. 

Benton finally spoke. “Hello, Ray,” When Ray didn’t respond, he added, “He’s an amazing animal,” and gestured toward the dog. 

Ray snorted, and the sound was so familiar to Benton that it was nearly painful. “Right,” Ray scoffed. “He’s like something out of ‘The Howling’ and I know it. But he’s a good dog. Not as much for witty conversation as the Dief-miester, but he’s a good dog.” 

Partner moved to Ray’s side and butted against him as Ray affectionately scratched his ears. “So,” Ray said giving the dog a final pat. “What can I do for you today, Constable?” 

“Corporal,” Benton corrected.

“Sorry,” Ray replied automatically. “Corporal. Have you got an engine you need me to look at?”

“Ray, I,” Benton stumbled for a moment. “We haven’t seen each other for years, Ray. Don’t I get so much as a ‘Hello’?”

“Hello,” Ray said with a sigh. “What do you want?”

Benton wanted a greeting like the one he’d received the day he and Ray had met. He wanted to see the warmth of Ray’s smile, feel the joy of his embrace. Benton longed to experience the bouncing, irrepressible energy that was Detective Ray Kowalski. But the Ray that stood before him now seemed to have been drained of that indefinable spark that had so enthralled Benton years ago. The vibrating force that had brightened Ray’s countenance was gone. Like a helium balloon the day after a party, Ray’s buoyant nature had dulled, leaving him lifeless and flat.

Why? Benton thought. And because it seemed to warrant repeating, he said it aloud. “Why?”

“Why what?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were living in Canada?” Benton asked softly.

Ray shrugged. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

Benton’s confusion suddenly flared. His emotions passed from distress to anger with a speed that only Ray had ever been able to invoke. “Of course it matters,” Benton scolded. “I was worried about you. I’ve been searching Chicago for you.”

“I wasn’t in Chicago.” Ray’s tone remained soft and even, which irritated Benton even more.

“Well I know that now,” Benton growled in exasperation. “I want to know why.”

Ray frowned. “Why should I be?”

Benton’s anger fizzed as quickly as it had come. Confusion reigned again. “It… We agreed… We had decided that it was time for you to go home.”

“You decided,” he said with another sigh. “You decided that I should go.”

“You never mentioned it,” Benton told him. “Not once during our adventure did you ever say anything about how much you missed Chicago.”

“So you, of course, interpreted that as overwhelming homesickness,” Ray said in a wry tone.

“It is your home, Ray.”

Ray shook his head sadly. “For you, home is a place on a map. It’s snow and stars and wolves. There’s even the occasional caribou thrown in once in a while to shake things up.” Ray sighed again. “Home isn’t like that for me. It isn’t some place on a map. For me, home was that crappy apartment I grew up in with my folks. Or the not so crappy apartment Stella and I had during the really good years, before the condo. Home is where somebody’s waiting for me, worrying if I’m late. 

“There are nearly three million people in Chicago,” Ray continued. “Not one of them gives a damn whether I’m there or not.”

Benton gasped, “That’s not true.”

Ray nodded. “It is. My folks aren’t there anymore. Stella doesn’t care anymore. I’m invisible there. I can walk down any street, pass hundreds of people, and not one of them will see me. Not really.”

“But… you’ve spent your entire life in Chicago,” Benton stammered.

“Doesn’t make it home,” Ray replied. “Not anymore.”

“So is this your home now, Ray?” Benton asked.

“This is where I’ve found a decent job and a place to keep my stuff,” Ray said. 

Benton was still perplexed. “But Chicago – I thought you would always belong to Chicago.”

“No. The Windy City and I are quits. Yellowknife is a better fit for us now anyway. Isn’t that right, Partner?” Ray turned a fond smile to the dog at his side and rubbed at the black ears. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Benton asked. 

“What was I going to say?” Ray asked sadly. “I might’ve been able to change your mind, talked you into letting me stay a while longer. But I’d tried that before. I kept thinking I could fix things with Stella. In the end she hated me when she finally kicked me out for good. I wasn’t going to do that again. I wanted things to end with you still liking me.”

“I never wanted things to end at all, Ray,” Benton argued.

“Did you honestly think our partnership could work long distance?” Ray asked with a wry frown. When Benton’s only answer was to scratch at his eyebrow, Ray nodded. “Right. Look,” he continued. “I promised Mitch I’d have his truck done by the end of the day. So I really need to get back to work.”

“Of course,” Benton nodded. He stared awkwardly at Ray for a moment. “I… Could I wait? Until you’ve finished?”

Ray gave a shrug. “Free country.” He went back to the work area of the garage and promptly disappeared under the hood of the waiting vehicle.

Benton sat on one of the simple vinyl covered chairs that lined the wall of the shop. He took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm his tumultuous thoughts. The facts just would not make sense. Ray was not in Chicago, was in fact not even in the United States. Benton distracted himself for a moment by wondering if Ray’s visas were in order.

From this vantage point, Benton could not see Ray, but he could hear Ray working, the occasional clink and clang of metal on metal as Ray used tools on the truck. In the background a radio played softly. Benton closed his eyes for a moment and listened, soaking up the feeling of Ray nearby.

But it seemed off somehow, so different from the atmosphere Benton remembered. His heart clenched a bit in his chest when Benton recognized the difference. Ray was working quietly, with just the sounds of his movements hanging in the air. There were no muttered curses, no singing under his breath, no rhythmic tapping. The commotion that had always accompanied the presence of Ray Kowalski was missing. Benton wondered if his own presence was causing this awkwardness in Ray or if his friend had suffered a severe personality shift. 

Benton waited for several hours. A few other people came and went, dropping off or retrieving vehicles. Ray finished the truck and moved it outside then pulled a delivery van of some sort into the work area. Benton saw the afore-mentioned Mitch as he came in to collect his property. As the man and Ray chatted, Benton eavesdropped and learned that the normal receptionist was home ill and the shop’s owner was away on vacation.

At precisely six o’clock, Ray closed the garage bay doors, locked the entrance door and flipped a switch to turn off the neon “open” sign in the window. Benton stood expectantly, but Ray waved him back. 

“Still have to finish up the paperwork,” Ray explained. “Shouldn’t take long.” 

A quarter of an hour later, Ray stood in front of a set of lockers to remove the coveralls he was wearing. The coveralls went into a locker from which Ray pulled a striped shirt with long sleeves. A moment later Ray had pulled the shirt on and was quickly buttoning it closed. Benton was aghast, for although Ray had changed quickly, the simple white tank he wore beneath the coveralls had done little to hide the other scars. 

The scar on Ray’s face had obviously come from a vertical slash that had continued down his chest. The perfectly straight line crossed the pectoralis major just left of the sternum, disappearing into the neckline of Ray’s shirt. Benton had also seen the defensive wound on the ulnar side of Ray’s right arm running from wrist to elbow. 

“I nearly lost you forever,” Benton whispered. “You could have died, and I never would have known.”

Ray looked at him and sighed. He didn’t seem angry or irritated. His eyes held a sad sort of patience that made him seem older than his years. “Someone would have contacted you,” Ray admitted. “You’re still in charge of my will. Never bothered to change it.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fine then, isn’t it?” Benton snarled, suddenly angry again.

“Maybe you should just go,” Ray suggested.

“No!” Panic quickly replaced Benton’s anger. He had to fix this, somehow. From the day they had met, Ray had been one of the most important people in Benton’s life. Now he was slipping away and Benton didn’t know why. A chasm had formed between them and Benton found himself thinking of pirates and stolen gold. He quickly tried another approach. “Would you like to get something to eat with me?” he asked.

Ray almost smiled. “I usually take Partner for a run after work.”

“Please, Ray.”

When Ray jerked his head once in agreement, Benton felt like he had won a medal.

Only a few minutes later, Benton found himself back at Marty’s Tavern sitting across the table from Ray. Partner was evidently a frequent visitor in the establishment and was lying quietly across Ray’s booted feet. The waitress appeared and glanced at Ray.

“The usual, Ray?” she asked. After a single nod in reply, the waitress turned toward Benton. He waved away the menu she offered. 

“I’ll have the same,” Benton told her. She left for only a moment, returning with two beers and two glasses of water on a tray. She left again and Ray had gulped down half his water before Benton spoke again. “Why Yellowknife?” he asked.

Ray shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Benton insisted. “It matters to me. I’d like to know, to understand why you would cut yourself off from everyone and every place you’ve ever known.”

“I didn’t cut myself off,” Ray said. “I just couldn’t see myself in Chicago on my own. I’d already decided that I was going to find a new city. But I had a layover here, and there were mechanical problems, then my flight got cancelled.” He shrugged ruefully. “So I found a bar,” he paused to gesture toward the stools nearby. “And I got very drunk. Lost nearly two weeks in a bottle. The Sergeant of the RCMP outpost here picked me up for public intoxication.”

“Ray,” Benton wasn’t sure what he meant to say. Ray cut him off anyway.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ray brushed aside Benton’s concern. “Old news. Sarge recognized me from the submarine thing and didn’t press any charges. Anyway,” Ray continued. “A day or two after that I was sitting on my favorite stool over there and Robbie Hanlin comes in with this cardboard box.”

Ray broke off his narrative when the waitress returned with two steaming bowls of chili and a plate of cornbread biscuits. “Thank you, Sandy,” Ray said as he dug in to his meal. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Benton urged, “A man came in with a box?”

A slight smile curved Ray’s lips. It wasn’t the smile that Benton remembered, just a phantom of the bright grin he longed for, but it was better than the blank look Benton had seen all day.

“Yeah,” Ray continued. “Inside the box he had this tiny bit of black fluff no bigger than a woman’s fist.” Ray glanced down and slipped a bit of cornbread to the dog at his feet. “He was a runt, believe it or not, one of nine puppies. And he had this virginal foreleg that flopped around like it had no bones in it.”

“Vestigial foreleg,” Benton corrected automatically.

Ray ignored him. “Hanlin was going to put him down but the asshole had to show all his friends first. Like Partner was some kind of freak show.” Ray frowned and scratched behind the dog’s ears as he talked. “It wasn’t Partner’s fault he was a freak, and he didn’t need to be put down. He just needed a little extra help. So, I took him.” Ray shrugged. “Pretty sure I threatened Hanlin with a broken nose if he didn’t turn over the pup. Not sure - I was half in the bag at the time - but Hanlin tends to stay out of my way these days.”

The waitress appeared and silently refilled Ray’s water glass as he continued. “Before I knew it, I had found a place to stay and started working odd jobs just to pay the vet bills. His little stump of a leg kept getting caught on things and the cuts would get infected until we had it removed completely.” Ray shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter now. He got through it okay.”

“You’ve done a fine job with him, Ray,” Benton said.

“So, tell me how things are going in your neck of the woods.” Ray gestured with his spoon. “How’s Dief? And did Walter Koe get that new room built before the baby came?”

“Walter and Elizabeth Koe’s son Billy is in preschool, Ray. And yes, he has his own bedroom.” Benton tried to keep the bitter tone from his voice but wasn’t very successful. “And Diefenbaker misses you every day.”

Ray nodded without comment.

“I miss you every day,” Benton admitted.

Ray sighed. “Why are you here?” he asked wearily. 

“I miss you, Ray.” Benton repeated. “I miss my friend.”

Ray was quiet for several long moments. He stared into his empty bowl as though the secrets of the universe were answered there. “I’m not that guy anymore,” he said softly. “That twitchy, pathetic loser has been gone for a while.”

“You are not a loser,” Benton contradicted him. “You never were.”

“I was,” Ray insisted. “I was so pathetically needy that I chased my wife away. Then I quit my job, sold my car and walked away from my entire life to move to the North Pole just to get kicked in the teeth for my trouble.”

“Ray -,”

“No.” Ray cut him off and quickly slid from his seat. “I got to go. Don’t worry about the bill. Sandy will put it on my tab.” Ray reached toward Benton and shook his hand. “It was really nice talking to you again. Take care of yourself, okay?”

A moment later, Ray was gone. Benton stared after him, unsure of what he should do and very conscious of the fact that not once all day had Ray called him by name.

 

*****  
Eight months later  
*****

Ray sighed and squirmed a bit in the seat. He tried to roll his shoulders to relieve a little tension, but it was difficult to do with the seatbelt holding him in place. He flexed one hand and then the other, reminding himself that a death grip on the steering wheel wouldn’t help matters.

“Shouldn’t be much further, buddy,” He said. A quick glance toward the passenger seat told him that Partner was tense and alert, glaring out the front windshield in much the same way Ray was, no doubt picking up on what Ray was feeling. 

When their three rig convoy had left Echo Bay earlier this afternoon, a light snow had been falling. This was normal for the Territories in early March, no big deal. But as the sun had set, the snowfall had increased. Dispatch had called on the radio, warning that the storm was expected to worsen over the next hour. The ice roads were now closed because of the coming storm; no new traffic would be permitted until it had passed. 

That would make things a little easier, at least. Ray didn’t need to worry about oncoming trucks suddenly appearing out of the darkness. Visibility was crap, his headlights reflecting wildly off fat flakes of white. Beyond the end of the beam was nothing, a black void. The world could have vanished just outside that cone of light and Ray wouldn’t know it. 

The radio bolted to the dashboard crackled suddenly, making Ray flinch. A disembodied voice spoke, “Dispatch, this is Bear. Rig number one of three has left the ice. Two one one nine, confirm.”

“Two one one nine, confirmed,” a second voice replied. Some days Bear would be cracking jokes over the radio, teasing the dispatcher or his fellow truckers. But the storm was making everyone edgy. So when Bear reached the end of the ice road and drove onto asphalt, he was all business tonight.

Ray glanced over at Partner again. “Almost home,” he said. 

Ray knew that he was only a couple of miles behind Bear, with another rig travelling midway between the two. Trucks on the ice road always travelled in small convoys but with distances of at least half a mile between vehicles. Technically, the rule was one kilometer between large trucks, in order to keep the ice more stable. But Ray hadn’t been in Canada long enough to stop thinking in miles. 

Half a mile was plenty of space. Still, Ray knew better than to relax at this point. This was one of the most dangerous parts of driving a big rig on the ice roads. Without any expensive cargo to worry about and only a few miles from a final destination, a weary man could make a mistake and mistakes out here could be fatal. 

It was a little like walking a beat in Chicago. He just had to stay completely alert and very aware of his surroundings. But in Chicago, Ray had to worry about bad guys trying to kill him at any given moment. Here, he had to worry about the cold and the ice and 16 tons of truck trying to get him.

It had surprised Ray a little, how much police work had prepared him for a job like this. The defensive driving courses he’d taken over the years had made learning to drive a big rig easy. Years’ worth of long stakeouts had taught Ray how to stay alert behind the wheel through long, dark hauls. And Ray’s instinct still served him well, helping him to adapt to new situations. 

What had really gotten him this job though, was the Arctic survival training he had received a few years ago. When the interviewer had asked Ray if he had ever seen the tundra, Ray had told her about the year he had lived there with a dog sled and a Mountie. Ray had learned a lot that year and he had the big duffle bag full of emergency supplies behind the seat to prove it.

As dangerous as this job could be, it usually wasn’t falling through the ice that took men’s lives, though that did happen every few years. Most guys who were hurt or killed on these roads were done in by the cold. A stalled rig or a broken heater could mean frozen toes and hypothermia in only a few hours. But Ray had lived outdoors in this sort of weather for months. He knew how to take care of himself. 

“Dispatch,” another voice floated from the radio. “This is Nichols. Rig number two of three has left the ice. Two one three two, confirm.”

“Two one three two, confirmed,” came the reply.

A minute later the radio sounded again. “Hey, Ray. Are you still out there?”

Ray peeled his hand from the steering wheel and grabbed the mic to his radio. “I’m here, Nick.”

“Take care as you hit the asphalt, Ray,” Nick said. “The pavement’s slick and the wind’s picking up. Almost blew me into the ditch.”

“Thanks, Nick.” 

A few minutes later, Ray’s rig lurched up the incline as it left the ice road and rolled onto regular pavement. He eased around the slippery first turn before reaching for his mic to take his turn reporting in. “Dispatch, this is Kowalski,” he said into the radio. “Rig three of three has left the ice. Two one five three, confirm.” 

“Two one five three, confirmed,” was the immediate response.

It didn’t take long for Ray to drive the last stretch of road and pull his rig in line with a dozen others. He left the truck running while he bundled into his cold weather gear and stepped into the frigid night. Ray banged on the hood for a minute, as it had frozen shut. He then quickly wrapped the engine with a blanket made for that purpose and plugged everything into a nearby warming station to keep the machine from seizing up in the cold. 

Once the rig was properly stowed for the night, Ray hauled his duffle from the cab and called to Partner. He trudged through the snow to the dispatch office, stamping his feet at the entrance only halfheartedly.

“Hey Mitch,” Ray said in greeting.

“You made it,” the other man replied. He handed Ray a clipboard and Ray began filling in blanks. Another way this job reminded Ray of being a cop - paperwork. 

“There was Mountie in here looking for you earlier,” Mitch told him. 

Ray frowned as he signed his name on a form. “Which Mountie? Am I in trouble?”

“Nah. It was a new guy,” Mitch explained. “Transferred in yesterday. You know how the Sergeant likes to have all his men meet you.” Mitch added with a shrug.

Ray scoffed and shook his head. “When is the Sarge going to realize that I’m not the big shot he makes me out to be?”

Mitch laughed. “As far as he’s concerned, you single-handedly prevented World War Three with that submarine thing, and you know it.”

“Yeah,” Ray grumbled as he handed back the clipboard. “But I barely did anything, and I didn’t do it alone, either.”

“But he is the top ranked RCMP presence in this city.” Mitch pointed out.

Ray nodded, “So I have to play nice or he’ll deport my ass.” 

“He wouldn’t. Sergeant Hodgins likes you, Ray. And it never hurts to know well-placed people,” Mitch said. “I told the new guy when you were expected back, but you’re a little later than anticipated.”

“Well,” Ray said with a yawn. “Baby Mountie will have to get my autograph some other time. I’m beat. Will the storm let up enough for the roads to be open tomorrow?”

Mitch shrugged. “Hard to say at this point. But check-in is at seven as usual. Don’t worry, Ray,” he continued. “There are plenty of loads to be scheduled in the morning. You’ll have one of them if the road’s open.”

“Thanks, Mitch,” Ray refastened his coat, bundled himself up and called to Partner before heading back into the night. 

Outside, the wind whipped across the parking lot, nearly blowing the hood of Ray’s parka off. He took a moment to tighten his hood and rearrange his goggles, making sure that the edge of the plastic was lying against his scarf. Ray knew from experience that it would not be fun if his eyes watered, causing the goggles to freeze to his skin. 

The snow wasn’t falling straight down - the wind pushed it in all directions. The area was lit by street lights, but with the snow, they just weren’t cutting it. The snow on the ground shifted in waves making everything white on white. It crawled like a live thing and for a moment Ray felt as though it was breathing. 

He hunched over against the wind and grasped Partner by the collar before edging his way along the side of the building. From the end of the building, across the street and two doors down, it was a little over two thousand yards to Ray’s tiny apartment. The storm wasn’t bad enough yet for Ray to get lost in such a short distance, but it would be soon. His grip on Partner was added insurance that he wouldn’t get disoriented. The dog could find his way more easily than Ray.

The eerily shifting snow suddenly moved in an odd way, making the hair on the back of Ray’s neck stand on end. At the same moment, Partner growled and his hackles rose. Then something white, barely visible against the snow, was arrowing toward Ray. Partner wrenched away from Ray’s grip and shot toward the shape. It wasn’t until the two figures collided that Ray realized what was happening.

For a split second, Ray was frozen in surprise. The snarling, snapping beasts lunging through the snow seemed vicious and wild. This wasn’t Ray’s quiet, furry-faced dog anymore. This was a dangerous predator. And he was fighting with a white wolf.

“Partner!” Ray cried. He felt his blood run cold. It was so easy to forget. When the dopey dog was bouncing at Ray’s heels or slobbering over a tennis ball or some old sock. It was so easy to forget that these creatures were built to tear flesh and snap bones. The forefathers of Ray’s pet would have eaten Ray’s forefathers for breakfast. Literally.

Ray yelled again, “Partner – Freeze!” The big black dog reacted immediately to the command. He broke away from the other dog and turned toward Ray. But the white wolf was sneaky and took the advantage, biting at Partner’s ear while the darker animal was distracted.

Partner yelped and Ray tried to position his body between the two dogs. But it was then that another figure ran up to them and grabbed the other dog by the collar. 

“Diefenbaker,” Fraser commanded. “Stop.”

As quickly as it had begun, the dog fight was over. Ray knelt in the snow at Partner’s side, running one gloved hand across the dog’s head and down his flank to search for injuries. He looked up at the other man. 

“Is he okay?” Fraser asked.

“I think so. Hard to tell,” Ray said. “How’s Dief?”

“It will be easier to discern the damage in better lighting.”

“Let’s get them over to my place and we’ll check them both,” Ray agreed. He kept a protective grip on Partner’s collar as he walked and murmured soothing nonsense the entire way.

Fraser held Diefenbaker’s collar as well, to prevent another outburst. “Diefenbaker,” he scolded. “I am so disappointed in you. What must Ray think of such behavior?”

Dief grumbled. “Well yes,” Fraser responded. “But he is young and impulsive, and he had no idea that you meant Ray no harm.” 

The wolf yowled softly.

Fraser shook his head. “At your age, one would think you had a bit more restraint. You’re lucky Ray was able to call him off so readily.” 

Dief shook his head and sneezed, to which Fraser replied, “You didn’t win. You cheated.”

Once at Ray’s apartment, Ray shed his two outermost layers, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He got some plain white towels from the cabinet in the bathroom and tossed one to Fraser. Ray then sat cross-legged on the floor and started to rub a towel over Partner’s fur. The white terrycloth served two purposes. First, it would easily show Ray if the animal was bleeding anywhere. And second, it helped to dry the melting snow from the dog’s thick fur.

Once Ray had thoroughly checked Partner over and convinced himself that the dog was fine, he took the shaggy head between his hands and shook him playfully. 

“You’re fine, you big goof,” Ray said with relief. “How’s the Diefster?”

Fraser nodded once. “Unscathed, thank goodness.” He rubbed at his eyebrow and sighed. “I’m so sorry, Ray. I’m afraid that Dief’s excitement at seeing you again overrode his common sense. He knows better than to approach a strange dog that way. Either of them could have been badly injured.”

“No harm, no foul. Nobody got hurt,” Ray said. Ray continued to scratch behind Partner’s ears. The dog showed his appreciation by plopping his muscle-bound, 100-pound body across Ray’s lap and lolling his head in adoration. 

“We’re lucky that Partner responded so quickly to your command. He is very well trained,” Fraser observed.

Ray shrugged. “Yeah, well… The first few months that I had him, once he’d been weaned off the bottle, all I could think about was my first dog, Sparky.” Ray glanced up at Fraser. “Did I ever tell you about Sparky?”

“Yes,” Fraser recalled. “You told me that he had been hit by a car and you had to put him down.”

“If I’d trained Sparky better, made him listen, he would have come when I called him instead of running into the street,” Ray said. “It takes a lot of time to train a dog like that. And I just never had that kind of time in Chicago.” 

Ray scratched at Partner’s back absently as he talked, running his fingers through the long hair. “I knew I wanted to do better with Partner, train him really well so he would listen if anything like that happened again. And I had nothing but time here. I wasn’t working regular, so I had nothing better to do.” 

“You seem to have done a fine job of it,” Fraser said sincerely.

With a wry chuckle Ray added, “I may have gotten a bit obsessive about it for a while. I had seen this demonstration once, ages ago, where these cops in the K-9 unit ran their dogs through all these tests. I had some weird idea about doing that with Partner, maybe enter him in competitions and stuff.”

As Ray talked, he gave Partner a shove and wiggled far enough away that he could stand up. He brushed dog fur off his shirt as he went on. “I got a bunch of books from the library and looked things up on the internet. Took a correspondence course, believe it or not. We figured it out. I even got him certified as a service dog so he would be allowed to go to work with me.”

Ray clapped his hands decisively. “Okay,” he said. “First things first. Partner, sit.” When the dog had obeyed his command, Ray crouched at the animal’s side and grabbed his muzzle. “Hey,” he began. “This is my old friend Dief. He’s the one I told you about. He’s cool, I promise.” Ray turned and gestured to Diefenbaker. “Come here, Wolf. Come say hi. I want you two to be buddies.” 

The two dogs sniffed cautiously at one another at first. A minute later Dief licked at Partner’s nose, making the younger dog sneeze. 

Ray laughed as he stood. “Good enough. Come on, we’ll celebrate your new friendship over kibble.” 

It took only a few minutes for Ray to retrieve two bowls and fill them with dog food. He drizzled each with a little water and stirred it in before setting a bowl on the floor in front of each dog. Ray stood over the animals as they ate, making sure they each stuck to their own serving. But there was no trouble between the animals, no fight starting over the food. There was no longer any tension at all between them.

“Dief and I have already eaten, Ray,” Fraser informed him.

Ray waved the comment away. “This isn’t a hunger food thing,” he explained. “This is a buddy bonding type thing.”

The dogs had finished eating when Ray picked up the bowls and quickly rinsed them in the sink. He filled a large water dish on the floor and then turned toward the cabinet. “Do you want a sandwich?” he asked.

Fraser smiled. “Is this a hunger thing?” 

“Yeah,” Ray replied as he put a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter on the counter. “I’m starving.” 

“I’m fine, Ray.”

Ray shrugged. A moment later he had slathered two slices of bread with a large amount of peanut butter and slapped together two sandwiches. Most of the first sandwich went into his mouth in one big bite. As he chewed, he went to the refrigerator and got himself a bottle of beer. 

Ray smirked as he noticed Fraser’s cringing expression. Beer and peanut butter was definitely an acquired taste. Ray wandered to the window as he gulped from the bottle. “Damn,” he said as he peered through the heavy curtains hanging over the window. “The storm’s gotten worse.” He turned to look toward Fraser. “Where are you staying?”

Fraser rubbed at his eyebrow. “Well Ray, I only arrived in town yesterday. For the moment, I’m staying at the outpost.”

“In your office again, eh?”

“I don’t have my own office,” Fraser explained. “But there is a storeroom that is serving the purpose for now.”

Ray glanced out the window again and shrugged. “Well you can’t get back there in this mess. And your new boss will kill me if you get turned into a Mountie popsicle in the first week. Knowing how he feels about having me in town, Sarge is probably on cloud nine having you here too. He’s a big fan of the sub-thing.”

“Actually,” Fraser admitted. “I get the impression that Sergeant Hodgins is anxious about my presence. He seems to think that it is beneath my skill level to be reporting to a lowly Sergeant.”

Ray snorted. “Yeah, that makes sense. He probably thinks of you like some war hero who should be running for Prime Minister or something.”

“Given time, I’m sure he’ll come to the same opinion of me as my previous superiors,” Fraser said.

Ray kept his mouth shut, though there was a snide comment really trying to slip out. There was a time when he could have said something about Fraser’s inability to conform to his bosses’ expectations. But that was when they had been friends and Fraser would have accepted such words as teasing admiration. It had been a long time since Ray had taunted Fraser that way. To say something like that now would just be rude.

Ray crammed the second sandwich into his mouth and chewed it barely long enough to swallow it without choking. After sucking down the rest of his beer in two gulps he said, “I’m whipped and need to hit the pillow. You’ll have to stay here until the weather breaks. You’re welcome to use the sleeping bag. It’s tied to the duffle over there. There’s plenty of floor to stretch out on.” 

Fraser smiled broadly. “Thank you kindly, Ray.”

Ray removed his boots and snow pants, crawling under the thick layers of blankets that were tossed over the twin-sized bed positioned along one wall. Ray had just a moment to register the fact that Fraser was watching him, but Ray was really too tired to care. He was asleep almost before his eyes had closed.

The next few days went by in a blur. During the ice road season, trucks hauled equipment to the mines in Echo Bay twenty-four hours a day, weather permitting. Drivers came from all over the world to work the ice roads during this brief two months because the money was so good. It was dangerous work, but the amount of money a man could earn reflected the risk he was taking on with each trip.

Ray didn’t do it so much for the money, though that was what had first drawn him to the job. Last year, his first year hauling on the ice roads, Ray had been trying to pay off lingering medical bills for both himself and Partner. He had a little insurance as a technically retired policeman, but it had only partially covered the hospital stay when he’d been attacked. And there had been no insurance to cover Partner’s medical treatments.

Now Ray’s debts had been paid, so it wasn’t really the money that drew him to the work. No more than it had been the money that had once taken him into police work. Ray lived in Yellowknife now. He knew how important this cargo was to the mines and the economy of the town where he lived. Driving a rig on the ice roads was dangerous but important work, just as being a detective had been. Lives and jobs both depended on this work getting done and Ray could do it. Ray could do it well. 

So Ray did the job. For the next two months it would be like he was working a big case in Chicago. He would work as much as he could, sleeping only when the rules dictated that he had to do so. Eating was an afterthought. Having Partner at his side reminded him to eat more often than he had done when working these kinds of hours in Chicago. Partner had to be fed and reminded Ray when feeding time was due. It was a simple matter for Ray to feed himself at the same time he fed his dog. 

Ray was back in the dispatch office three or four days after the storm. He’d just returned from another haul and was signing the bottom of his paperwork when he heard the door behind him open.

“Good afternoon, Corporal,” Mitch called over Ray’s shoulder.

“Good afternoon, Mitch,” Fraser said. 

Ray’s mouth started to water as he took a deep breath. Turning toward Fraser, he sniffed again. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “Is that what I think it is?”

Fraser smiled at him. In one hand he was carrying a familiar metal camping bowl that was wrapped in a kitchen towel to keep the contents warm. “I thought you’d like something besides peanut butter to eat, Ray.” 

“Hey,” Ray argued. “Peanut butter is nutritious. It’s got protein and stuff.” He moved toward Fraser and took the bowl as it was offered to him. 

“Well yes, Ray,” Fraser said. “But peanut butter for every meal can get a bit tiresome.”

Ray smirked. “You just didn’t like that I fed you peanut butter sandwiches for breakfast the other day.”

Fraser raised his eyebrows as Ray took the bowl and sat on a nearby table. “Have you had anything besides peanut butter since I last saw you?”

Ray shrugged. “Peanut butter is good for you,” he repeated. “But if this is your caribou stew, I won’t complain.” He looked up at Fraser expectantly.

“It is,” Fraser said. He reached into his coat and pulled a spoon from an inner pocket.

Ray felt a grin nearly split his face in two. “Proper preparation as always,” he said as he snatched the spoon from Fraser’s hand. 

“Hello, Ray.” 

“Hello, Fraser,” Ray replied and promptly began to shovel the stew into his mouth. Fraser’s smiled broadened as though he’d just fallen into thirty feet of snow. Ray wasn’t sure what the freak was so happy about.

After a few moments, with Ray hardly pausing to breathe, Fraser’s smile faded and he said softly, “I’m sorry, Ray.”

“For what?” Ray asked around a mouthful of food. He fished a chunk of carrot from the stew and tossed it to the dog waiting at his feet.

Fraser sighed. “For causing the rift between us. It takes so little to make you happy and I failed to realize that. We’ve both suffered because of my failure to recognize what you needed from me.”

Ray paused to stare at the few remaining bites of stew in the bowl. “It was a long time ago.”

“Will you ever be able to forgive me?” Fraser asked. 

Ray sighed. He scooped up the last few bites of stew, scraping the sides and letting Partner lick off the spoon once he’d finished. “Nothing to forgive,” Ray said.

“I disagree,” Fraser contradicted him. 

“Well. You’re a pushy bastard,” Ray told him. 

“So I’ve been told.”

“Look,” Ray changed subjects quickly. “I’m going to grab a beer at Marty’s. Do you want to come with?”

Fraser looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Ray. I can’t. I’m on duty. My lunch break is nearly over.” 

“No sweat,” Ray said. “Next time, maybe. And thanks for the stew.” 

“My pleasure, Ray. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

A few days later, Ray was standing in his kitchen in front of the open refrigerator door. He had worked a late shift and had just arrived back at his apartment after driving through the night. Now his internal clock was all messed up. After work usually meant dinner and a bottle of beer, but it was only 9:30 in the morning. So he was standing there, staring wearily into his refrigerator, trying to decide whether to have a bottle of beer or a glass of orange juice.

“Orange juice?” Ray asked himself. He looked over at Partner. “Since when do we have orange juice?”

Partner gave no response. He was busy licking at the last crumbs of dog food in his bowl. It was just too much for Ray’s exhausted brain to deal with at the moment. So he slammed the door closed and went to bed, deciding that he wasn’t really thirsty anyway.

He caught another clue later that afternoon. He’d slept soundly for a full seven hours, then got up and showered. So he was thinking more clearly and was less muddled than he had been that morning. When Ray found a shirt that passed the sniff test on his very first try he knew that something was up. 

“I think the laundry fairies have been here, Partner,” he said with a smile as he pulled the shirt on. He finished layering up and headed to work for the night. He didn’t realize that he was whistling.

Ray worked nights for the next several days so that he was only at his apartment for a few hours at a time. But now that he knew what he was looking for, he could find subtle signs each day. There was a book on an end-table one morning. And on another, his bed had been made. 

“Invasion of the housekeepers,” he told Partner.

Then came the day that his rig had minor engine troubles and he’d been stuck in Echo Bay for several extra hours until someone could bring him the parts necessary for repairs. As a result, Ray arrived back at his apartment for dinner for the first time in almost a week. His first instinct was to go to Marty’s Tavern for a quick bite. But remembering the signs of invasion he’d encountered recently, he decided against it.

He walked in the door of his apartment just as Fraser was sitting down in front of a plate of spaghetti. 

“Hello, Ray,” Fraser said without batting an eye. 

“Hey,” Ray replied just as casually. By the time Ray had shed his gear and fed his dog, there was a second plate of pasta on the table. Ray attacked the plate like a starving man.

“I expected you earlier,” Fraser said. “I was concerned.”

Ray grunted as he chewed gratefully. Fraser had always had a heavy hand with garlic and Ray had always loved that about him. Ray slurped up a noodle and wiped his mouth on the back of one hand. “The truck busted a hose while I was in Echo Bay,” he explained. “Mitch sent a new one up with Feistman but it took forever for him to get there.”

“Ah.” 

The two ate in silence for several minutes. Ray had cleaned his plate and sat back with a contented sigh before he spoke again. “So, tell me. How long have you been living in my apartment?”

“Six days or so,” he admitted. 

Ray nodded. “How long are you staying in Yellowknife?” he asked.

“It is my new posting,” Fraser told him. “My previous postings each lasted for several years.”

“But you requested the transfer here, didn’t you?” Ray pried.

Fraser nodded. “It took longer than I expected for a position to become available.” Fraser took their empty plates to the sink and started running water over them. 

Ray spoke cautiously to Fraser’s back. “Why would you do that? It took you such a long time to get back to Inuvik. Why leave again?”

“It was my turn,” Fraser said, without turning around. 

“Your turn, for what?”

“My turn to make changes in my life,” Fraser carefully placed the clean dish in the drainer. “I thought a great deal about what you said, Ray.”

Ray scrubbed his hands through his hair. He was tired and now that he had been well fed, he could feel his body crashing. “I said a lot of things. Which one specifically?”

“About home,” Fraser said. He turned to face Ray, scrubbing at his eyebrow again. “About home being a feeling rather than a place one can pinpoint on a map.”

Ray nodded as he remembered their conversation from so many months ago. 

“I thought about it a lot,” Fraser continued. “These last few years have been…Well, not difficult. But… Lacking would be the most appropriate term, I guess. When you and I met again last summer, I realized what it was that I had been missing.”

“You did, huh?”

“Yes Ray,” Fraser went on. “I missed the connection that you and I once shared. It’s gone now and I want it back.”

“Fraser, I…” Ray began.

“Ray, please,” Fraser interrupted. “Can we try? Will you let me try?” Fraser stepped toward Ray until they were nearly close enough to touch one another. “Because there is something else I learned, something I’ve recognized about myself.”

Ray swallowed hard before he could croak, “And what was that?”

Fraser leaned in, just a bit closer and whispered, “Sometimes home is a person, Ray. And I have been so very homesick.”

“It was really hard,” Ray said sadly. “Figuring out how to let you go was really, really hard.”

“I know Ray,” Fraser said. He reached over and put a reassuring hard on Ray’s shoulder. “I am sorry.” 

Ray bumped his shoulder against Fraser’s in a friendly nudge as he stifled a yawn. “I’m beat. Can do the rest of this soul searching tomorrow? I’m dead on my feet.” 

Fraser smiled. “Of course, Ray. You’ve had a long day.” 

Ray was just curling up in bed when he noticed Fraser arranging his bedroll on the floor. Ray sat up and blinked at him. “You’ve been on the floor every night?” he asked.

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser said. “I’m quite comfortable, I assure you.”

Ray stretched out on his side so that he could see Fraser as he spoke. “Freak. If you’re going to keep staying here, you’ll need a cot or something. You’ll hurt your back if you keep sleeping on that cold floor.” 

Just then, the lights clicked off and Fraser was just a shadow in the darkness. “As you wish,” Fraser replied. His voice was warm with affection.

Ray’s eyes were heavy as he relaxed into his pillow. He could hear Fraser’s soft breathing nearby.

“Hey, Fraser?” Ray whispered. 

“Yes Ray?”

“Welcome home, Fraser,” Ray told him in a quavering voice.

“Thank you, Ray,” Fraser’s answer was so quiet that Ray only barely heard it.

“It feels so good to finally be home,” Ray said. 

“Yes,” Fraser agreed. “Yes it does.”

 

\--The end


End file.
